


have love will travel

by Milzilla



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: M/M, Mechanic Michael, not as sexy as i'd planned, that one's on me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 03:48:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19369225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milzilla/pseuds/Milzilla
Summary: five times alex needed his car fixed and the one time that he didn't.or, michael is canonically a mechanic and we're not taking advantage of that fact.





	have love will travel

**Author's Note:**

> this one goes out to [curlsandacowboyhat](https://curlsandacowboyhat.tumblr.com/post/185413434431/mechanic-michael-appreciation-post) on tumblr for the inspiring mechanic michael appreciation post, and to [audreyblanche](https://audreyblanche.tumblr.com/post/185428069339/angrycowboytype-curlsandacowboyhat-mechanic) on tumblr for continuing to inspire me with her dope ass tags.
> 
> this was going to be another "michael as x profession au" but then my brain wanted to write canon compliant stuff and he's literally a mechanic so... sorry? definitely not as sexy as originally intended.
> 
> i don't think this needs any warnings but pls hmu if i'm wrong.

### i. 

When Alex’s car breaks down halfway between the cabin and Roswell, he tries not to take it personally. He sits on the side of the highway and presses his face to the steering wheel, allowing himself one frustrated groan and exactly thirty seconds of levelled breathing before picking up his phone.

Kyle’s got a double shift at the hospital today and he doesn’t dare disturb Liz, not when her time is torn between work, grieving Max, and finding a way to resurrect Max. He needs to be on base in the next few hours and in the end, he knows who he needs to call and there’s no point in avoiding it any longer.

He dials Michael’s number.

“Alex?” Michael picks up on third ring and Alex is possibly imagining things, but he sounds out of breath. Worried, maybe. “What’s wrong?”

Alex tries to think of the last time he called Michael for something that wasn’t an emergency.

He can’t remember the last time he called Michael.

“I need help” he admits. Then, quickly adds: “My car broke down.”

The silence on the other end of the line drags on for so long that he checks to make sure the call hasn’t dropped out.

“Your car broke down,” Michael repeats in a flat tone.

“Yeah.”

A tight inhale of breath. “Where are you?”

“About twenty minutes out,” Alex tells him. “From my place.”

“Fine. I’m on my way.”

The line cuts out and Alex returns his forehead to the steering wheel. He’s giving himself five more minutes to feel sorry about the whole thing and then he’s going to get out of the car.

*

Michael shows up in record time, which does _not_ make Alex feel warm. That’s the mild terror at the situation he realises he’s not ready for when Michael slides out of his truck. He’s in jeans and a black tee that’s covered in grease marks, which means he was probably in the middle of working on another car. He walks towards Alex’s jeep like the silence of the past two months doesn’t exist between them, like he didn’t spend three weeks of trying (and failing) to date Alex’s best friend, like Alex isn’t pretending he’s still infuriated so he doesn’t have to deal with the feeling of want and loss at seeing him after all these weeks. God, he wants to shout at him. He wants to hold him close.

“Thanks for coming,” Alex says instead, when Michael reaches the car. “You didn’t have to.”

Michael throws him a look that says he absolutely _did_.

“What happened?” he asks, moving to the front of the car.

“It made a weird noise,” Alex explains. “So I pulled over. Then I couldn’t get it started again.”

Michael pops the hood without preamble and Alex’s breath hitches at the sight and okay, that’s new. Not _Michael_ , because Michael’s existence is enough that Alex sometimes forgets to breathe, but the car thing is definitely new. Except maybe it’s the confidence with which Michael digs his hands under the hood, elbow deep in engine and battery and a hundred other things Alex couldn’t name. He can’t see Michael’s face from where he’s standing but he can see his arms, lines tense and muscles strained as he shifts something.

Somewhat belatedly, Alex realises he’s never seen Michael work on a car. Intellectually he knows that it happens all the time, has even imagined it sometimes in his more desperate hours, when he’s needed something to cling to and the image has flashed through his mind. He’s not prepared for the reality of it though.

“HT leads,” Michael says barely a minute later, snapping Alex from his thoughts.

“What?”

Michael waves a hand at the car. “Your HT leads are shot. When was the last time you had them replaced?”

Alex shrugs.

Michael’s eyes narrow. “Right. They need to be replaced. I need to take it back to the yard.”

Alex grimaces. “I don’t have time for this. I need to get to the base.” He sees the way that Michael’s brows draw together and he wants to explain that it’s the _truth_. It’s got nothing to do with the fact that he doesn’t want to be stuck with Michael in his truck or wait around while Michael fixes his car.

“Alex --”

“Can’t you just -- fix it for now?” he asks, waving a hand as if to indicate the mechanical magic he knows Michael is capable of when it comes to cars. Then, because Michael’s still frowning: “I promise I’ll bring it in tomorrow.”

Michael stares at him for a moment, then shakes his head. “Bring it by later, when you’re done.” Alex opens his mouth to protest but -- “There’s no way you’re driving that back to your place and into town tomorrow. I’ll get it going, if you’ll bring it by later.”

Alex sets his jaw. They can both be stubborn arseholes when they want to be but he doesn’t want this to be the hill that he dies on. There’s plenty of time for that later.

“Yeah, okay,” he assents, trying to keep the displeasure in the situation from his face.

Michael’s only acknowledgement is to nod, then he turns and walks back to his truck, pulling out cables and a wrench.

Alex doesn’t watch him while he works. He’s already had a preview of what that looks like and he doesn’t think he can take five more minutes of it. He leans against the side of the car instead and idly scrolls through his phone.

Barely ten minutes later, Michael is opening the driver-side door and starting the car, though his frown doesn’t disappear with the sound of the engine.

Alex meets him around that side of the car.

“Thanks,” he says, and slides into the driver’s seat.

Michael just continues to glare at him. It doesn’t make him any less beautiful.

“Later,” he says, in a gruff tone. “I mean it.” Then he’s closing the hood of the car and walking back to his truck.

Alex drives past him as he gets back onto the road and the back of his neck prickles with the sensation of being watched. Michael’s just making sure the car doesn’t break down again immediately, he tells himself. He’s just being a good mechanic.

*

It’s nearly dark when he rolls into the junkyard. Alex had honestly thought about skipping this part of the night and just going home but he hadn’t relished the idea of having to call Michael tomorrow if the car failed to start again. No, it was better to get this over and done with today.

The man in question is nowhere to be seen when he shifts the car into park and climbs out. Then, Michael appears from behind a station wagon wearing the same clothes from this morning, only he’s got that ridiculous black hat on now and there’s even more grease stains on his shirt.

“Huh,” he says, eyeing the car and then Alex. “You showed up.”

_I always do, asshole_.

Alex bites back the comment, instead schooling his features into the neutral mask he wears so well.

“You made it sound important,” he says instead, shrugging. He can’t risk not having a working car, can’t bare the thought of having to rely on someone to drive him around or god forbid, not being able to get out at all.

Michael watches him. Then, tilts his head. “This won’t take long. I’ve got the leads out back. Feel free to take a seat.”

He disappears into the large work shed so Alex wanders over to the lawn chairs and sits himself down in one. He’s doesn’t realise until too late, until Michael is walking back towards his car with cables in hand, that he’s made a mistake. That he’s sat down in a chair that gives him the _perfect_ view of the hood of the car.

Alex sucks in a breath when Michael pops the hood. 

It’s worse from this angle. From here, he can see the way Michael’s jeans cling to his hips, stretching out over his arse as he leans forward and into the front of the car. He can see the way his back muscles move and ripple underneath the black shirt, which is tight around his shoulders. He can see the way the loose curls at the back of his head bounce which each movement of his head, the way the strong lines of his arms tense and shift as he works. The light of the sun is quickly fading, bathing Michael’s frame in golden reds and oranges, caressing his tanned skin and painting him like a sweaty, grease-covered canvas.

Fifteen minutes later and Alex isn’t sure how he’s managed to keep breathing this whole time.

“Alright,” Michael announces, wiping his hands on his jeans. “I’m done. I sprayed them with some WD40, so they should last you a while.”

Alex is on his feet as quickly as possible. “Thanks,” he says. “How much do I owe you?”

“Fifty for the leads,” is Michael’s answer.

Alex frowns at him. “And how much for the call out?”

“Nothing.”

“Guerin,” Alex presses. “How much?”

Michael scowls right back at him. “I said _nothing_ , Alex.”

“You’re part of a business,” Alex tries to reason. “You can’t --”

“Just let me help you!” Michael blurts out, then looks infuriated at having done so.

Alex blinks at him. “You did,” he says. Then, more warily: “What’s this about, Guerin?”

Michael runs a hand through the curls at the back of his head, nearly knocking his hat off in the process. “ _Nothing_ ,” he insists, but he’s not looking at Alex while he says it, which makes the pit of worry in Alex’s stomach grow. “Let me do this for you.”

Alex wants to argue that Michael doesn’t owe him anything, that whatever guilt or pity he’s going to cite as a motivator is misplaced and he should just charge him whatever the going rate for a tow is, but he’s too tired to start a shit fight tonight. It’ll be the second time today that Michael has out-stubborned him and he's going to let it go but only because he's still thrown from watching Michael work.

"Okay," he agrees, and tries not to laugh at the look of complete surprise on Michael's face. He fishes fifty dollars from his wallet, even though he has and wants to give more, and hands it over. Michael seems pissed off enough about the fifty that Alex doesn’t push the issue.

He thinks that he should say something else but everything that comes to mind is too casual or not casual enough. There’s never been a comfortable middle with them.

“Thank you,” Alex says. He gets in the car and drives. When he pauses at the edge of the junkyard and looks into the rear-view mirror, Michael is still watching him.

### ii.

Two weeks later, when his engine starts to spew heat and smoke, he hesitates before he punches the number into his phone, but he still calls.

"Let me guess; your wreck of a car broke down again." Michael's voice answers on the second ring and Alex curses the way his heart _tha-thumps_ on response.

"Not quite yet," he says. "But it started smoking when I turned it on this morning. When could you fit me in?"

It's very telling of their current relationship that Michael doesn't immediately respond to that with a crude joke. Alex almost wishes he would.

"Whenever," is Michael's actual response. "Business is slow." Which Alex knows is a lie, but he says nothing. "Bring it by today."

"Are you sure? It's not urgent--"

Michael scoffs. "Top up your water, Alex, and bring it by or I'll damn well come to you."

Another _tha-thump_.

"Fine. I'll see you this afternoon."

*

Business is definitely _not_ slow. There are at least two cars lined up in the junkyard when Alex gets there, which is why he frowns at Michael as he gets out of his car.

"Guerin, I said it wasn't urgent. I can bring it back another day."

"Shut up." Michael hands him a beer and gestures to the lawn chairs. "I'll focus better knowing you're not on the road with smoke blowing out your arse."

Alex takes the beer in stunned silence. He thinks about arguing but if he's going to stick around while Michael does this… it's better that he sits and takes the weight off his prosthetic. He sits in one of the chairs.

By the time he remembers why that's a terrible idea, it's too late; Michael is lifting the hood of his car with his damn telekinesis and a spike of _want_ is shooting through Alex's body.

He takes a sip of the beer and clears his throat. "What's wrong with it?" he asks.

"Engine's overheating," Michael replies. There's already sweat on his brow from the heat of the day and his previous work; the warmth of the car can't be helping. It's dripping down the back of his neck and Alex wants to lick it off.

"-- and it might be your coolant," Michael is saying when Alex snaps out of his trance. "Won't know until I test a few things."

"Oh." Alex says, thinking of watching Michael do this for longer than ten minutes. "I guess I could do some work."

Michael turns to look at him, brow furrowed. "Nah," he shakes his head. Alex raises an eyebrow. "I got you a beer. Least you can do is provide some conversation."

Alex stares at him until he turns back around with a laugh of disbelief.

"Okay." Alex licks his lips. "What have you -- what have you been up to?"

Michael grips the edge of the car, like he wasn't expecting Alex to actually talk, and lets out a snort of laughter. "So I assume you heard about the resurrection of Maxwell, our alien lord and saviour?”

He goes home two hours later with tears in his eyes and his jaw sore from smiling. The car doesn't smoke and Alex's heart aches a little less.

### iii.

When his brakes start to make strange noises on the drive in to Roswell, Alex doesn’t chance the rest of the way. He drives straight to the junkyard. It’s early morning, far too early for anyone not on military time to be awake, so sweetness blooms in his chest at the sight of Michael lowering himself down the airstream steps to greet him.

“What brings you round my neck of the woods, Private?” he drawls, voice taking on that morning hoarseness that makes the back of Alex’s neck tingle. “Business or pleasure?”

“I wish it was pleasure,” Alex remarks, then fights the sensation of warmth threatening to spread across his cheeks. “I mean, I’m here about my car.”

“Third time this month,” Michael points out. His posture is still relaxed, casual, but his brow furrows. “What is it this time?”

“Brakes are making a weird noise,” Alex explains. “Started this morning. I brought it straight here.”

Michael’s face splits into a pleased smile, one that lights up those golden eyes, and Alex’s breath catches in his throat.

“I have to get to the base though,” he admits quickly. Then, because he wants Michael to know: “I’m organising my discharge today.”

Michael’s eyebrows go high, his eyes wide. Alex can’t pick the expression exactly; surprise maybe, or pride. “Good for you,” he says. “I can give you a ride?”

Alex nods before he can change his mind. “Yeah, if it’s not too much trouble. I can get a lift back here afterwards.”

“Course.” Michael leans back inside the airstream to grab his hat and then gestures to his truck. “Come on. Can’t have you being late for your big day.”

Alex tucks his chin and hides his smile as he slides in the passenger seat. “It’s not that big of a deal,” he protests.

Michael turns and fixes him with a look. “You’re getting out of the Airforce,” he argues. “That’s a pretty big fuckin’ deal, Private.”

“Captain,” Alex corrects him automatically. “And you won’t be able to call me that anymore.”

“Haven’t been bothered about the accuracy before,” Michael retorts, starting the truck. “Don’t know why that would change.”

Alex laughs, loud and carefree like he’s been letting himself feel around Michael these past few weeks. It’s easiest when they’re alone, once the initial bubble of awkwardness has popped. He loves the answering grin on Michael’s face, the easy way that they fall into a silence that’s companionable, not stilted.

“Oh.” He blinks as he remembers. “You’ll need to know, for when you’re looking at the brakes; it has some modifications. Because of -- my leg.”

Michael’s eyes stay on the road but he nods. “I figured. They move the gas pedal to the left?”

“Uh, yeah.” Alex tries not to sound surprised.

“Okay. And it’s got a power brake, right? So you’re not having to put as much pressure down.”

Alex stared out his window, lest the surprise now show on his face. “Y-yes.”

“Easy enough,” Michael nods like he’s thinking to himself, and they lapse into that comfortable silence again.

*

When Alex returns later that afternoon, Michael doesn’t come to greet him, so he wanders towards the workshop. He falters when he hears the sounds of tinkering, steeling himself for the sight he’s surely going to get of Michael working on a car. Which is why he’s surprised when he turns the corner and doesn’t spot the alien in question. His jeep is in the workshop but Michael’s nowhere to be seen.

“Guerin --?” Alex queries.

There’s a loud _CLANG_ , then a muffled groan of pain. A few seconds pass and then Michael appears from beneath the car, laid out across a garage creeper. The scowl on his face clears when his eyes find Alex.

“Alex.” His lips curl slowly into a grin. “Scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” Alex says but his brain is short-circuiting because _Micheal is not wearing a shirt_. His skin is glistening with sweat, a few oil stains swept across his shoulder, a pec, his stomach. The jeans are low on his hips, and Alex’s gaze gets stuck on the trail of hair on his navel.

The spell is only broken when Michael lifts himself off the creeper and stands, wiping his hands off on the back of his jeans. That only serves to jostle them, making them fall down further, barely clinging to hip bones.

“I’m almost done,” Michael tells him, and Alex forces his mind to process the words. “Got called out to fix a Kia for one of Roswell’s bored housewives.” He shakes his head. “Whatever. It’s all business.”

“Oh.” Alex finally finds his voice. “That’s fine. I should have texted.”

“Don’t worry about it. Actually I, uh, made a couple of adjustments," Michael admits a little sheepishly. "Nothing major. I just noticed the pedal was catching, which has probably been making it harder to accelerate. Putting stress on your prosthetic."

Alex blinks at him. "You -- did that?"

"Yeah." Michael reaches up to rub the back of his neck. Alex follows the movement of his bicep, the lift of his pec. "I might've looked up the mechanism. Just to make sure I wouldn't fuck it up."

Alex can't imagine Michael ever fucking up a mechanic in his life. This is too much. He looked up the mechanism. He made adjustments for Alex's comfort. He's standing here without a shirt, smelling like sweat and grease and everything Alex has wanted for months. He looks beautiful and for once, Alex doesn't second guess it.

Michael lets out a grunt as his back hits the workshop bench. Alex swallows the sound with his mouth, hands grabbing at the small of Michael's back to pull him close, even as he uses his hips to push them harder against the surface. Michael's hands stutter up his arms, over his shoulders, before coming to grip his neck.

Alex can't _breathe_ for wanting, surrounded by Michael's scent and feeling the sweat that runs down his strong back muscles and past the waist of his jeans. He slides his hands past the material and squeezes. Michael groans and Alex deepens the kiss, torn between grinding against one another like teenagers or trying to take this further.

The answer comes in the form of Michael breaking the kiss to gasp into their connected mouths: "Fuck me. Alex. _C'mon_."

Alex nods frantically. "Yeah. _Yeah._ "

Michael gestures at the airstream with a quick jerk of his head but makes no move to untangle himself. Things come into focus sharply for Alex and he shakes his head. Michael starts to look wounded. Alex's gaze flicks to his jeep. Michael's eyes widen a fraction, then narrow into a filthy smirk.

Alex kisses him until the expression melts into something else, and then they're scrambling to get at each other's pants.

Ten minutes, some fumbling, and some very dedicated prep work on Alex’s part later, and he's pushing into Michael, who's resting on his hands on the hood of the jeep. As Michael adjusts beneath him, Alex slides his hand up Michael's sweat-slick back, causing the other to arch into the touch. He brings his hand back down with a hint of nails this time and Michael hisses.

"God, Michael," Alex breathes.

Michael just shoves back against him, inadvertently beginning a push and pull that sets their rhythm as Alex steadily fucks into him.

"So impatient," Alex murmurs, reaching out to tangle a hand in those golden curls.

"Always," is Michael's purred answer. "For you."

It's too much again and Alex has to focus on fucking him stupid before _he_ says something stupid.

On a particularly well aimed thrust, Michael cries out and loses the balance on his hands. He drops to his elbows, which lowers him closer to the metal of the car, but Alex just follows him down. The slight change in angle is good and now each drive down draws a stuttered groan from Michael.

"F-fuck," he gets out, head dropping between his shoulders, curls bobbing with each thrust. "A-Alex."

Alex nearly unravels at the way Michael says his name. Instead, he grips Michael's hips harder and redoubles his efforts. The snap of his hips maintains the relentless rhythm as he orders: "Touch yourself. Make yourself come, Guerin."

Michael doesn't _need_ the order, just like Alex doesn't need to give it, but he sees the shiver that works its way through Michael's body at the words. Seconds later he's reaching down to wrap a hand around his dick. Alex can't see it from this angle, but he feels the way Michael's hips stutter as he strips his cock hard and fast. It doesn't take him long.

Alex leans over and fixes his mouth to Michael's shoulder as he comes, fingers still gripping his hips like a vice.

They stand there trembling as they catch their breath. Eventually Alex slips away to take care of the condom. When he turns back, Michael has flipped himself over so he's leaning back against the hood of the car on his elbows, stroking a hand down his naked chest, stretching like a cat in the sun. His pants are still around his ankles, cock soft between his legs, and if Alex were even remotely capable of it, he'd already be moving to fuck him again.

"Don't look so pleased with yourself," he says instead, lips threatening to break into a smile. He reaches over to pick Michael's shirt up from the workbench and throws it to him.

Michael uses it to clean himself up, then to wipe the hood of the car, before pulling his jeans back up. He looks at Alex like he might say something, then shakes his head and gestures at Alex's car. "Give me five minutes and you can take it home."

"Guerin--"

Michael shakes his head and presses his front against Alex, coaxing him into a filthy kiss. When he’s done, he steps back looking smug. "Nah. Not today, darlin’." He grins and picks up a wrench, flipping it in the air before catching it again. He looks like sin and suddenly Alex can't stand the thought of anyone else seeing him like this. He wants to leave more marks on Michael than just the sore, red bite mark at his shoulder. He doesn't say that.

He goes and cleans himself up in the airstream instead. 

Michael's right. The jeep handles much better as he drives away from the junkyard.

### iv.

Four days later, his air conditioner is broken.

They make it into the airstream this time and Michael rides him in the tiny bed, Alex's fingers digging into his thighs as Michael's gaze holds his.

Afterwards, they lie breathless against one another, Michael running his hand down Alex's leg, hitched over his hip.

"Stay for food," Michael says, pressing an easy kiss to Alex's shoulder. "I'll take a look at your air conditioner."

Alex realises he'd completely forgotten about the car.

"Yeah, okay," he replies, settling further into the bed. It's a long while before either of them gets up to get food.

### v.

Alex's car is making a rattling noise but he and Michael are fighting. He can’t remember how it started exactly, only how it finished; with harsh words in harsh tones about things that they’d both told themselves they were past. An unwelcome but necessary airing of everything that was left between them. They’d both left town angry, retreating to their respective sanctuaries.

Then Alex had woken to a rattle in his car. Not enough that he would have ever considered taking it to a mechanic before, but enough that it gave him an excuse.

He doesn’t call ahead. He knows that it’s unfair but he doesn’t want Michael’s armour to already be up before he even gets there. He doesn’t get his wish; the cowboy swagger front is up before Alex is even out of the car. He hovers by the jeep like a nervous bee, not wanting to step too far away from his excuse to be here but desperately wanting to step out and reach for Michael.

Michael’s stubborn response is to stand in silence and wait.

Alex balls his hands into fists at his sides. “My car…” he starts.

Michael’s expression flickers through a few emotions, and _christ_ how did he keep so many secrets for so long? He’s still angry, but he eventually fixes Alex with what Alex knows is concern.

“It’s -- got a rattle,” Alex says reluctantly. 

That gets him a reaction. “Jesus _christ_ , Alex!” Michael throws his hands up in the air. He turns around -- and Alex’s heart seizes with panic -- then he does a three-sixty in the dirt and faces Alex again. “Fine. Give me your keys.”

Alex holds them out in his palm and Michael flings them towards himself with his TK as he stalks towards the car, snatching them out of the air as he goes. Alex watches as Michael gets in the jeep, starts the engine, sits with his hands on the wheel for a minute, and then gets back out again. He slips underneath the car, again pausing for a minute or so, before sliding back out.

“I need to replace your heat shield,” Michael says gruffly, on his way back past Alex to towards the workshop.

“Guerin --” Alex starts.

“Don’t!” Michael cuts him off, raising a hand to emphasise the word. “Fuck, Alex. Just -- don’t.”

Alex wavers between one step and the next but eventually settles back on the dirt and waits for Michael to return.

“This’ll take an hour,” Michael announces, as he returns with several metal objects that Alex couldn’t begin to try and name. “Less than that. Just -- there’s coffee in the airstream.”

He recognises a dismissal when he hears it. It feels wrong to walk away and slip into the airstream, instead of hanging around to watch Michael work, to talk about nothing and everything. He makes himself a mug of coffee, closing his eyes to bask in his familiarity with Michael’s home.

*  
Michael only charges him $100, which Alex knows is nowhere near enough money for both the parts and labour. He opens his mouth to argue but Michael’s turning around and heading back to his workshop before Alex can get a word out. He sits in the jeep for what feels like ten minutes, willing himself to just _get back out of the car and talk to Michael_ but eventually, he backs out and leaves the junkyard.

### \+ i.

He’s back the next day. The slamming of his door sounds cacophonous, echoing through the junkyard. It’s nowhere near as loud as the expression on Michael’s face when he sees Alex get out of the car. He grips the edge of the truck that he’s currently working on before he seems to make a decision, pockets a spanner in the back of his jeans, then strides towards Alex.

“What do you want, Alex?” he asks, tiredly.

Alex opens his mouth to speak, but finds that all of his carefully rehearsed words have disappeared. He looks to the jeep and then back at Michael, mouth parted slightly with nothing but air coming out.

Michael’s gaze narrows. “ _Really_?” he demands. “There’s nothing wrong with your jeep. Except that it’s a piece of shit and you should replace it before it ends up killing you.”

“Yeah, I know.” Alex nods, finally finding his voice.

“You _know_?” 

“I’m not here because of the car.”

Of all things, _that_ is what seems to finally shock Michael out of his anger. He whole-body freezes as his expression turns wary. “Isn’t that the only reason you have to come around these days?”

Alex takes the punch because it confirms what he’s been thinking. That after everything that’s happened, despite being on the same damn page, they’re still impossibly bad at communicating what they want and how they feel. They’re going to fix that at some point, Alex has decided, once they get past this small hurdle.

“I never needed an excuse to see you,” he says. At Michael’s scowl, he exhales a breath. “I never _wanted_ to need an excuse. It was just easier, telling myself it was the only thing between us anymore.”

“That’s such bullshit --”

“I know,” Alex interrupts him, then softer: “I know, Guerin. I’m so tired of easier. I want _real_. And besides,” he shifts his weight from foot to foot, smiling down at the ground then back up again. “I figured you out.”

Michael crosses his arms and rolls his eyes. “Uh huh. How’s that?” It’s a front, but one that Alex has long learned to see past. There’s vulnerability there, underneath the grease and the swagger.

“You thought the same thing.”

Even though he’d been confident about  this before, Alex can tell by the wavering expression on Michael’s face that he’s right. He steps forward, shaking his head and chuckling softly.

“We’re both idiots,” he says, stepping into Michael’s space. “We’re just lucky my car plays up as much as it does.”

That earns him a return of the scowl. “It’s not _lucky_ , Alex. The damn thing is going to run off the road and take you with it.”

“Nah.” Alex reaches out and presses a hand to Michael’s chest, letting his fingers fan slowly out across the material, feeling Michael’s breathing quicken beneath them. “I know the best mechanic in town. And he’s been keeping me safe for months.”

Michael lets out a gentle sound, and Alex can feel the tension begin to leave him. “Well, couldn’t turn you away, could I?”

“Cause you wanted to see me,” Alex answers, his other hand coming to rest at Michael’s waist.

He gives a short bark of laughter. “Yeah, that and I knew the car would kill you if I didn’t keep checking it.”

Alex finally gives in and leans forward, pressing his forehead to Michael’s shoulder. Michael’s arms come up to wrap around him, hands resting against the small of his back as he tucks his face into Alex’s neck.

They stand there for a long time, swaying gently against one another, unwilling to let go and break the moment. Though, after a few minutes of smelling the combination of sweat, grease and Michael, Alex shifts a little sheepishly against him.

Michael draws back enough to raise his eyebrows in pleased disbelief. “Re _ally_?” he asks.

Alex drops his face back to Michael’s shoulder and mumbles: “I can’t help it. You smell really good.”

Michael runs his hands up and down Alex’s sides, as if he were soothing him, but his fingers linger a little too long at certain spots to be entirely soothing. 

“Knew the mechanic thing was doing it for you,” he jokes. His laughter catches when Alex bites his shoulder gently through his shirt.

“Alright, Private,” he exhales. “Listen, I have to finish working on this truck. Won’t take me long. Hour. Hour and a half, tops.”

Alex presses his entire front along Michael’s, both hands sliding up to the sides of his neck, further up and into his hair, tugging gently. He lifts his head to attach his lips to the hard line of Michael’s jaw.

“Forty-five minutes?” Michael offers, breath a stutter.

“Mm.” Alex makes a sound like he’s considering it, then tilts his head and presses their mouths together, sucks on Michael’s bottom lip until he opens up and Alex can slide their tongues together. He takes his time, kissing Michael with the multitude of patient, methodical determination he possesses.

When they finally part, they’re both a little breathless, but Michael is the one who looks wrecked.

“A- _lex_ ,” he says, the second half a whine. “You’re not playing fair. I gotta work.”

“Okay,” Alex assents, innocently cocking his head to the side with a smile that’s anything but. “I do like to watch you work.” He takes a step back, even when Michael reaches for him. “I’m going to grab some coffee. You should get back to it.”

The entire experience is different, Alex decides, when he knows that he’s allowed to watch. Pink embarrassment becomes warm liquid pleasure at the sight of Michael bent over a truck. Nervous energy becomes delight and amusement as Michael tells him about the latest alien hijinks in Liz’s lab, as he tells a funny (but not overly humiliating) story about Kyle. The distress that had come before when he watched the muscles in Michael’s arms work, that he’d felt because he couldn’t hold or touch, becomes less desperate (though no less intense) as he sips coffee from a UFO Emporium mug in the afternoon sun.

And when Michael pulls him into the airstream later, failing to kiss each other properly because they’re both smiling so widely, that’s different too. Knowing that there’s no rush, that they’re both here because they want to be and not having to fall back on any excuses; that’s different in the best way.

Alex doesn’t get rid of the jeep. He likes it too much and besides, it’s got sentiment now. Michael despairs of the car (and him) but he knows Michael will take care of it. Just like Michael takes care of him.


End file.
